


Gone Quiet

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter gets some bad news. Neal is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Peter Whump Day](http://whitecollarhc.livejournal.com/149572.html) at whitecollarhc. Thanks to Fuzzyboo for beta reading!

Sometimes Neal thought it was ridiculous how in-tune he was with Peter. Even before he’d started sleeping with Peter and Elizabeth, if he and Peter were in the office at the same time, Neal always knew where he was, even if he couldn’t see him. It was some sort of sixth sense that only worked on Peter Burke. Since they’d started having sex, it had only gotten more acute. 

It was this sixth sense, Neal thought later, that made him look up toward Peter’s office that Friday morning. It was a slow day. They’d just closed two major cases, and Peter was giving his team some unofficial downtime. Jones had taken the day off altogether; Diana had come in, but Neal could see her computer from where he sat, and she was mostly reading restaurant reviews on Yelp. 

Neal had a stack of cases to look through, but he’d found himself unfocused all morning. At ten-thirty he looked up toward Peter’s office, thinking he might see if Peter wanted to leave the building for a cup of coffee. El had been out of town all week, so Peter had been staying over at Neal’s every night; they’d had breakfast and coffee on the balcony that morning, but Neal thought he might be in need of another caffeine boost. 

Peter was on the phone. That wasn’t anything unusual, but there was something about his face . . . Neal couldn’t put his finger on it consciously, but it pinged his Peter sense. He kept watching as Peter finished his conversation and hung up - and then just sat there, staring at nothing. He didn’t go back to work, he didn’t make another phone call, he just . . . sat there. 

Neal stood, grabbed a case off the top of the pile, and climbed the stairs to Peter’s office. 

“Hey,” he said, knocking and entering at the same time. “I think this loan scandal looks promising for when we’re all in on Monday.”

Peter blinked and looked at him. “What?”

Neal frowned. Up close, he could see that Peter was kind of white. His Peter sense was screaming now, but he put the case on Peter’s desk, very calmly. “This loan scandal. I think we should focus on it on Monday.”

Peter stared at the file as though he had no idea what it was. “Right. Monday.”

“Hey, is everything okay?” He sat down in the chair in front of Peter’s desk. 

“I . . .” Peter shook his head as though to clear it. “I don’t think I’ll be here on Monday. My sister just called me. She lives upstate, near our parents. She, um. My dad had a heart attack.”

 _Oh hell_. Neal made sure that his body was blocking the view from the bullpen, then reached across the desk and took Peter’s hand. It was a mark of how completely shaken Peter was that he didn’t object, just turned his hand over and gripped Neal’s. “Is he okay? Do you need to head upstate?”

Peter shook his head. He swallowed hard, once. “No, he - he died. This morning. In the ambulance, she said. They tried to - but they couldn’t.” Peter’s voice broke on the last word, and Neal saw him fighting for control. 

_Damn_. Of all the things this could’ve been, Neal thought, it had to be the one he was least prepared to deal with. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a parent you actually cared about - couldn’t even really imagine it. Peter’s father had been the sort of dad Neal had always dreamed of having - one who was there for all the birthdays, all the holidays, all the baseball games. He had no idea what Peter was feeling right now, no idea what would help, or if anything even could.

But he did know what Peter needed right then, which was to not be here in the office anymore. If he knew Peter, he was going to try and push through the rest of the day, work through the pain. If El had been in town, Neal would’ve called her and had her come and get Peter. But she was in San Francisco, and her flight wouldn’t get in until very late that night. He needed other reinforcements. 

Neal still hadn’t said anything, but Peter was so deep in his own head, it didn’t seem to matter. Neal squeezed his hand to get his attention, and Peter looked at him. He looked lost, Neal thought. Lost and very young, somehow. “I’m going to be right back,” Neal told him. “Just stay here, all right?”

Peter rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I should call El.”

“Yes,” Neal said, relieved. “Call El.” That would occupy him at least as long as it would take him to do what he needed to do.

Hughes was in his office, just hanging up the phone when Neal knocked. “Come in - Caffrey!” he said in surprise, as Neal entered. Neal wasn’t sure he’d ever gone into Hughes’s office without Peter. “What is it?”

“Sir,” Neal said, and then stopped, unsure of how to go on.

“Spit it out,” Hughes said impatiently. 

“Sir, Peter just got some bad news. His father died.”

Whatever Hughes thought he might say, Neal thought, that wasn’t it. He stared at him for a moment and then sighed. “Damn.”

“He’s on the phone with Elizabeth right now,” Neal said, “but she’s in California and probably won’t be able to get back before tonight. I’m sure he’ll want to wait for her to drive upstate, but -”

“But he shouldn’t be here,” Hughes said with a grimace. “And if I know Peter, he’s going to insist he’s fine and try and work the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, that’s my guess, too,” Neal said, relieved that for once he and Hughes seemed to be on the same page. 

Hughes stood with a sigh. “Come with me, Caffrey,” he said, and headed into Peter’s office next door. 

Peter was still on the phone with El. It seemed like he’d recovered slightly from the shock; his eyes were a bit red and damp, but he frowned at Neal when he entered the office behind Hughes. “Hang on, hon,” he said, to El, and pushed the phone back from his ear. “Reese?”

“Caffrey just told me what happened,” Hughes said. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Peter. Come see me when you’re done speaking with Elizabeth, all right? But take your time.”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said. Hughes turned and left, and Peter glared at Neal. Neal shrugged, unrepentant, and closed the door to Peter’s office on his way out, so that Peter could talk to El in relative privacy. 

He spent the next fifteen minutes pretending to work but really keeping one eye on Peter’s office the entire time. When Peter finally did come out, he gestured Neal up the stairs. Neal dropped the file he hadn’t been reading and jogged up to meet him. 

“El wants to talk to you,” Peter said gruffly, holding out his cell phone. Neal took it, and while Peter went next door to Hughes’s office, he ducked into Peter’s own.

“Hi El,” he said. 

“Hi sweetie,” El said, sounding tired and a little rough. 

“How are you?” Neal asked carefully. 

“I’ve been better,” she said, and Neal heard her sniffle. “But I’m not the one we have to worry about.” She drew a deep breath. “I’ve already tried to change my flight, but I can’t get out any earlier. I should get in about ten. Could you make sure Peter gets home okay and stay with him?”

“Sure,” Neal said, even as the idea made him feel slightly sick. He wanted to take care of Peter, he did, but he wasn’t at all sure that he was the best person for the job. In fact, he was almost entirely sure he wasn’t. But with El in San Francisco, they didn’t have a lot of choice. 

Fortunately, El seemed to read his mind. “Listen to me, Neal. You’re going to be okay. You’re exactly who Peter needs right now.”

Well, _that_ was patently untrue. “No, actually, _you’re_ who Peter needs right now,” Neal countered. 

“He needs you, too,” El said, “and right now you’re there and I’m not, and believe me, this is killing me a little. I realize this whole thing might be a little bit fraught for you, but you need to just shove that all down deep and just - and just _be there_ , because that’s what Peter needs. That’s what he’d do for you. Got it?”

Her voice had grown a little bit sharp there at the end, but for some reason that actually made Neal feel better. He felt himself straighten up from where he’d been sitting, slumped, on the edge of Peter’s desk. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll be okay, El. Just concentrate on getting home.”

“Good,” she said. “Love you, Neal.”

“Love you, too,” Neal said. The two of them disconnected. 

Neal could hear Peter arguing with Hughes through the wall that separated the two offices, but he was confident in Hughes’s ability to hold his own. He decided to sit tight and wait. Usually, when left alone with Peter’s unlocked cell phone, Neal would’ve done a bit of harmless snooping through his text messages, just to find something to tease him about later. But at the moment, the thought held no appeal at all. 

Peter was back within five minutes, looking resigned. “Hey,” Neal said, glancing up from his own phone, where he’d been browsing the _New York Times_ headlines. 

“Hey,” Peter said, and sighed. “I suppose you’re under orders to take me home.”

“Yup,” Neal said. “Is that going to be an issue with Hughes?”

Peter shook his head. His look of resignation gave way suddenly to a profound weariness. Neal had the urge to pull Peter into his arms and hold him close, but he knew Peter wouldn’t let him do that until they were home, in the safety of the Burkes’ house. “Come on,” Neal said, picking up Peter’s coat. “Let’s go.”

It took them another few minutes to extricate themselves. Peter had to talk to Diana and Jones, let them know he wouldn’t be in until at least Wednesday or Thursday of next week, and then there was another round of _I’m so sorry to hear that_ and _what can we do?_ It was kind of Diana and Jones, but by the time they actually reached the elevator Peter’s shoulders were hunched up to around his ears. He didn’t really relax until they got to the car without meeting anyone else Peter would have to tell. 

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” he complained, when Neal held his hand out for the keys. Neal gave him a look and just kept his hand out. Peter gave an exasperated sigh and dropped the keys into Neal’s palm. He climbed in the passenger side and stared out the window while Neal started the car and pulled out of the Bureau parking garage. 

“I guess I should call my mom,” he said after a long silence. He was silent for a while, while Neal carefully maneuvered them downtown. Then he cleared his throat and said again, “I should call my mom.”

He still made no move toward his phone. Neal reached across and rested his hand on Peter’s leg. “It’s okay if you wait until we get to the house.” Peter nodded, looking relieved. Neal had no idea why it mattered that he told Peter is was okay for him to wait until they got to the house for him to call his mom, but it seemed that it did. 

Neal suspected that very little of this was going to make sense to him. 

Peter didn’t speak much on the drive. Neal turned on the radio once they cleared downtown traffic, setting it to an oldies station he knew Peter liked. Neal snuck glances at him out the corner of his eye, but Peter was just staring out the window, lost in thought. When they pulled up to the house, scoring a miraculous midday parking space, Peter blinked in confusion. Neal would’ve guessed that he didn’t remember anything between the parking garage and the house. 

Satchmo came trotting over as they came in, curious to see his people home in the middle of the day. Peter gave him an absent-minded pat, but Neal could see he already had his phone in his hand, turning it over. Neal knelt down to give Satchmo a bit more attention, while Peter stood in the hallway, staring blankly into the living room. 

“Peter?” Neal asked, finally standing. “Do you want me to make some lunch?” It was just after noon now.

“Yeah,” Peter said, in a voice that said he really didn’t care one way or the other. “I’m going to go outside and call my mom.”

Satchmo went with him. Neal watched him for a bit from the window; Peter sat down in one of the chairs on the patio, set his phone down on the table, and closed his eyes. There’d been that moment in the office when Neal had thought he’d looked young and lost, but now, somehow, he looked gray and worn and _old_ in a way that made Neal’s stomach hurt. After a moment, he took a deep breath and picked up his phone. Neal turned away from the window.

Neal had said he’d make lunch, and so that was what he did. He made a large Greek salad with lots of feta and vegetables from Elizabeth’s garden, and when Peter still hadn’t come back inside, he made turkey sandwiches to go with it, with avocado and fresh tomatoes. 

By the time the sandwiches were done, Peter still hadn’t re-appeared. Neal didn’t want to pry, but he went to the window and peeked out. Peter wasn’t on the phone anymore. He was just sitting. Satchmo’s head rested on his knee, and Peter’s right hand was buried in his fur. He was just sitting - and crying, Neal realized. Very, very silently, his shoulders barely moving. 

Neal shrank back from the door. When Kate had died, he remembered, he’d screamed. When Ellen had died, he’d gone frozen and silent and then, eventually, when he was alone, he’d sobbed himself into exhaustion before picking himself up and doing what he’d needed to. He didn’t know what to with Peter’s silent, steady grief, but his Peter sense told him Peter wouldn’t appreciate company just then. He retreated to the kitchen and poked around until he found something else to cook: cookie dough from the freezer. 

He was just taking the cookies out of the oven when Peter came in. He looked pale and rumpled and his eyes were red, but his cheeks were dry. “How many people are you cooking for?” Peter asked, staring in bemusement at the salad and platter of sandwiches, not to mention the cookies Neal set down on the stovetop. 

“I don’t know,” Neal said, looking around at what was really a stupid amount of food. “I guess you and El can take the cookies for the road?” Come to think of it, Neal supposed that people did tend to cook in these situations. Casseroles or something. He thought he’d seen it on TV, but they’d never lived in a neighborhood like that when he was a kid, where people knew each other and took care of each other, so he couldn’t say for sure. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Peter said, and reached for one. 

“Lunch first,” Neal said, capturing Peter’s hand. “Besides, they’re still about the same temperature as lava.” Peter scowled at him, and it was so normal that for a moment, at least, the lead weight in Neal’s stomach lightened a little. 

They had a surprisingly normal lunch out on the porch. Peter didn’t eat as much as he normally would have, but at least he ate something. He was quiet, so Neal kept up a steady patter about the case they’d just closed. Only after Neal went inside and came back out with a plate of cookies and two tall glasses of milk did he dare venture anywhere near the elephant in the room. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked, into a small pocket of silence. 

“She’s all right,” Peter said, and then stopped. “Sorry. No. Of course she’s not all right. She’s - this is a huge shock.”

“I’m sure,” Neal said, and felt around blindly in the dark for something he could say that wouldn’t be totally inappropriate. “It’s normal for her to not be okay.”

That, Neal thought, probably hadn’t been it. 

But Peter just nodded. “I know, but . . .” He set his glass of milk down on the table and looked at Neal. “My mom and I are a lot alike. My sister says we’re emotionally obtuse, when she’s being polite. Emotionally constipated, when she’s not. I don’t think that’s fair, but I don’t like big displays of emotion, mine or anyone else’s.”

“I’ve noticed,” Neal said. 

“She and I both tend to get uncomfortable in these situations. We go quiet. My dad . . . my dad always knew exactly what to do.” Peter’s voice went a little rough there at the end. 

“Hey,” Neal said, and reached over to take Peter’s hand. “There’s no wrong way to do this, all right? If you want to cry, cry. If you don’t, don’t. It doesn’t matter how your sister handles it.”

“I know,” Peter said, “it’s just . . .” He sighed. “I can’t imagine my family without my dad.”

“Yeah,” Neal said, and rubbed his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand. He didn’t know what to say, but Peter didn’t seem to expect or want anything else from him. 

The rest of the afternoon was strange, to say the least. Neal realized that he and Peter had rarely been home alone together in the middle of the day; on the weekends, El was usually around, at least off and on, and when El was home the whole house felt different. 

Peter said he wanted to work outside, so they both changed into grubby clothes and spent the afternoon weeding the garden, with the radio going in the background and Satchmo wuffling around the edges of the flowerbeds. The hard work seemed to settle Peter, and it also didn’t require conversation. Every once in a while his cell phone would ring, and Peter would take it inside for anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour before coming back out to take up where he’d left off. 

Neal let him be, but by four o’clock, when Peter showed no signs of stopping, he decided it was time to call it a day. He dragged Peter out of the yard, made him drink a glass of water, and then hauled him upstairs and into the shower. 

Neal loved the Burkes’ shower. They’d renovated the bathroom a few years ago and put in an enormous walk-in one. It fit all three of them comfortably, and it even had a bench along the wall opposite the spray, which was extremely convenient at times. Today, though, Neal just stripped down efficiently out of his muddy clothes. Peter didn’t say a word as he did the same and then stepped under the spray. Neal climbed in after him and closed the shower door. 

For nearly a minute, Peter stood under the spray without moving. Neal felt weird just standing there, so he picked up a washcloth and soaked it, then lathered it up with soap. He turned Peter around and started washing Peter’s back, very carefully, from the nape of his neck down to where his waist started to curve out into his ass. 

“You know what I keep thinking?” Peter asked after a moment. 

Neal managed to control his surprise. He hadn’t really expected Peter to talk at all, given how the rest of the day had gone. “What’s that?”

“That I never told him about you,” Peter said. “About us.”

Neal soaked the cloth and squeezed it out over Peter’s shoulder, watching the water run down Peter’s skin in rivulets. “How would that conversation have gone?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “That’s why I never did it. I thought - why does it matter, really? But now he’s gone, and there was this huge secret between us, and he never even knew.”

“It’d have been a big risk to take,” Neal said carefully, “if you didn’t know how he’d take it.”

Peter sighed. “I know. But that’s . . . that’s not the point.” He was quiet as Neal finished washing his back, then got the shampoo bottle down and squeezed some out in his palm. He rubbed it together in his hands and started working it into Peter’s hair. Peter made a wordless noise, and his shoulders dropped several inches. 

He didn’t speak again until after Neal had turned him around and rinsed out his hair. When he did, it was so quiet that Neal almost didn’t catch it: “Maybe I just really wish he could’ve met you.”

Neal felt his throat tighten up with sudden emotion. He slid his arms around Peter’s waist and pulled him close. After a few seconds, he felt Peter lean on him a bit, transferring some of his weight to him, and then, a few seconds after that, his head fell forward to rest against Neal’s shoulder. He tightened his arms around Peter and closed his eyes, tucking his face against Peter’s own. “I wish that, too,” Neal murmured. 

“And I wish,” Peter sighed, his breath ghosting out against Neal’s skin, “that you could come with us upstate.”

Neal pushed his fingers into Peter’s hair. “I don’t think the Marshals would be all that thrilled with the idea.”

“No, I know, I just . . . you’re my family,” Peter said, pulling away to look at Neal. “Just as much as my dad was. And I wish you could be with me when I say good-bye.”

“Me too,” Neal said, even though he wasn’t a hundred percent sure he meant that. He could only imagine that scene: Peter and El showing up with Peter’s CI inexplicably in-tow for the funeral. In a fantasy world where no one would think twice about it (where there was no anklet, where threesomes weren’t weird), maybe. But even then . . . Neal wasn’t sure he could really say he’d want to go. He just didn’t quite get families like Peter’s. He could fake it well enough, but what he loved most about Peter and El was that there wasn’t much he had to fake. 

He reached around Peter and turned off the hot water. He’d never actually gotten around to washing his own hair, but mostly he’d just wanted to rinse off the sweat from the afternoon. He could shower again before bed if he wanted to. 

Peter wanted pizza for dinner. Neal offered to make it, but no, he wanted Domino’s. Neal made a face but he called to place the order anyway. They ate sitting on the floor in front of the TV, watching reruns of _Law and Order_. It wasn’t Neal’s favorite show, but it was worth watching it to hear Peter bitch about all the ways they were screwing up procedurally. But after the third episode, Neal had had enough. He let Peter keep control of the remote, though, and was utterly unsurprised when they ended up watching _Sportscenter_. Neal retrieved his sketchpad from upstairs and started his umpteenth study of Satchmo. 

Peter was an extremely early riser, and he tended to fall asleep in front of the TV after dinner. It wasn’t all that surprising, then, that by 9:30, Peter was a heavy weight against Neal’s left arm. Carefully, he maneuvered his arm out from underneath Peter and draped it around his shoulders so that Peter was held against his side. Peter sighed and relaxed. Neal turned his face and buried his nose in Peter’s hair, still ever so slightly damp from his shower. He closed his eyes and just breathed. 

Neal didn’t think he fell asleep like that, but the next thing he really knew, El was letting herself in the front door. She caught sight of them on the sofa and gave Neal a soft smile. She dropped her overnight bag, kicked off her shoes, and padded over in her stocking feet. 

“Hey,” Neal said, as she wedged herself onto the sofa beside him. “How was the trip?”

El sighed. “Long. It’s always long, but today was worse than usual.”

“I bet. How’re you doing?”

El bit her lip. “I’m doing all right. How’s Peter?”

Neal glanced down at the top of Peter’s head. “About as well as could be expected. He was very quiet all day.”

El nodded. “That’s how he gets. How about you, sweetie?” she asked then, stroking her fingers into Neal’s hair. “I know I was sharp with you earlier. I’m sorry about that, I just - I needed you to be there for Peter.”

“I know,” Neal said, leaning his head on her shoulder. “And I needed to hear it. I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” El said, forcing him to look her in the eye. 

“Yes,” Neal confirmed, and realized it was true. He’d done all right today. His Peter sense hadn’t failed him. There were moments when he hadn’t been brilliant, but Peter hadn’t expected - or wanted - brilliance from him. He’d wanted Neal to be there, to be steady, supportive, all those things that he and El were for each other. All those things that Neal had never really thought he’d be for anyone. “I’m really glad you’re home, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” El said, pressing her lips to Neal’s forehead. She sighed. “Long drive tomorrow. Will you look after Satchmo for us? Normally we’d take him, but I think a dog’s just one more thing his mother won’t need to deal with.”

“Of course,” Neal said, and found himself stupidly grateful to her for giving him that small job. He couldn’t go with them. He couldn’t stand next to Peter when he said good-bye to his father, couldn’t be with him on the drive up or the drive back or calm him down when his sister made him crazy. But he could look after Satchmo. 

And when they came back, he would be here - however Peter needed him to be. 

_Fin._


End file.
